


One Hundred Lifetimes (Until We Get it Right)

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: rs_games, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Parallel Universes, R/S Games 2016, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8356300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: Rumour has it there are those who're linked to another person. No matter what time and no matter what universe they’re in, they will recognise each other. Somehow, their hearts will know.~ A parallel universe story.Written for Team Time at the 2016 RS Games.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." - Orson Welles
> 
>  
> 
> _It’s been said that reality isn’t one single story. Every outcome of every situation can be real, existing in parallel universes. It’s been said that when we meet crossroads in our lives; when we make all our big and small decisions, universe will branch out and create a parallel one, where the consequences of a different choice will play out. This is the story of how two men’s lives would play out if they or the people around them had made different choices along the way. Glimpses of what was and what is and what could've been._
> 
> _Common to them all, whether the difference between them is vast or hardly noticeable, is that two souls who are connected will always search for each other, in any way they can._
> 
>  
> 
> ***  
> 

**Prologue**

In 1952, physicist Erwin Schrödinger held a lecture where he presented an idea he stated might “seem lunatic.” Based on his earlier work within quantum theory, he theorized that different versions of the same story don’t have to be mutually exclusive alternatives. They can all happen simultaneously. As far as we know, this was the first time the concept of parallel universes, or multiverse, was introduced by a Muggle scientist.

A number of multiverse theories have developed through times, in disciplines such as astronomy, philosophy and religion, and now also within the field of physics. It may seem, to the layman observer, that humanity’s never ending search for knowledge has taken a step closer to where science and mystery, or if you will, magic, meet. 

Wizardkind, of course, have long since suspected the existence of parallel universes. For some reason, though, few attempts have been made to explore this mystery. There’s been little search for a magic key to open the door from one universe to the next. 

Perhaps the wizards of old sensed that certain things were best left alone. Perhaps they knew the walls separating worlds weren’t penetrable. Or perhaps they knew the walls weren’t meant to be walked through.

With time, the idea of parallel universes became a vague notion in most of the wizarding world. It was seen as a possibility, but something that didn’t affect their lives. Not much to be gained from speculating further. 

Rumour has it, though, that there are those who pick up on more than the rest of us. While they can’t grasp the mystery anymore than we can, they may, sometimes, in the chill of an early morning or when a grey evening dwindles into dark night, sense the echo of _something_ just out of reach. Rumour has it that they’re linked to another person. Rumour has it that no matter what time and no matter what universe they’re in, they will recognise each other. Somehow, their hearts know. 

  


*** 

**i.**

_Here’s the thing, Sirius. People often seem to talk about seeing the world through a child’s eyes. And they do it in a way that says they see childhood as a time for wonder and adventure. Pure and untainted. I suppose it can be like that. In some lifetimes I’ve even experienced that childhood can indeed be like that. But to be perfectly honest, Sirius, you and I both know that just as often it’s a time for feeling powerless. A time for being at the mercy of the setting you’re put in and the decisions made by people around you._

_But no matter how challenging our childhoods may be. No matter if we face mostly sunshine or hardship. Every time, without fail, growing up is infinitely better when you’re there to grow up with me, Sirius._

_Sometimes the choices of our families bring us closer together as children. And even when circumstances tell us our friendship can’t go on, for one brief moment in time we get to be together._

_Wherever you are, so is the light. And I get to be there in the brightness. With you._

  
Remus knows he has to be a good boy if he wants to join his mother. Her employees at the Manor have said so, and she has in turn, gently, told Remus. He is not to be heard. As far as possible he is not to be seen.

There’s no need to tell him. He prefers to remain in the shadows anyway. He’s done so ever since he was old enough to understand how the villagers’ whispering he caught wind of wherever he went was about him. Every _...they should’ve abandoned him._ Every _...what sins did they do to bring this upon themselves?_ Every _...he’d be better off dead._ It’s all about him. He can literally hear the disapproval and the thirst for scandal floating up from them as they speak. So Remus has a lot of practice disappearing in a crowd and making himself invisible.

Except when his mother brings him to the Manor. 

It’s raining, unrelenting and unwavering. Chubby drops trying their best to soak the boy and his mother through before they eventually reach their goal.

“Finally,” Sirius says from the top of the stairs when they’re close enough, running towards them with usual enthusiasm. No room left for the dignified elegance his family tries to ingrain in him. “It’s been so long!” He picks up a handkerchief from his pocket, clumsily trying to dry Remus’ wet curls. A look in his eyes says _I don’t want you to catch a cold, you know_. 

Remus lets himself be dried, even if it doesn’t really help much. It’s nice anyway.

“One week, Sirius,” he says. “One week since I saw you last.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, all the while making no real effort to hide his joy. Sirius is happy to see him. It never fails to make his insides jump.

“Good morning, Mrs Lupin.” Sirius gives her a smile. Enquires after her husband and the family’s general well-being. His parents have taught him the importance of polite manners. He taught himself who he deems worthy of said manners. 

“How do you do, Mr Black?” Hope says, and then, “I suppose I should get started. The food is not going to cook itself.” She steps away, watching as Sirius throws an arm across Remus’ shoulder. “Behave,” she adds, sternly, surely knowing that Sirius Black is the one person with whom her son doesn’t feel the need to hide his more adventurous side.

They wave and disappear inside. Sirius quickly picks up their conversation again. “ _Only_ one week, you say! _You_ try and spend a week with my family and you can tell for yourself how slowly time seems to move.” 

He steers them through long corridors, past drawing rooms and libraries, walking with certain stride. Appetite for life evident in each step. A radiant smile adorning his face, untroubled and carefree, happily mirrored in the face of his friend.

The Black Manor is still as absurd to Remus as it was the first time he was allowed in here. It’s enormous, with a certain suffocating quality to it. Most rooms packed from floor to roof with preposterous antiques and imposing knickknack, some of it outright dangerous-looking. The atmosphere doesn’t bother Remus, though, not now, not with Sirius’ dazzling laughter in his ears.

“Shall we raid the pantry first?” 

Remus shrugs. Smiles. “Why break a time-honoured tradition?”

“I’m fairly certain that I saw a fresh apple pie there this morning. One with our names on it.”

“You and your apple pie,” Remus says, but he makes no complaints when they find themselves sitting in a half lit corner of the pantry, eating apple pie meant for today’s dessert. (There are a lot of pies. Sirius insists no one will notice.)

They eat in companionable silence, only interrupted by satisfied humming noises and happy chewing.

“Sirius.” Remus breaks the stillness, with the air of someone about to state something he’s said many times before. “I never would’ve thought you ate like a pig, an upper-class boy like you.” 

“I’ve told you again and again. I’m _not_ upper-class.” 

“Sirius. You’re the most upper-class person I’ve ever talked to. Well, I suppose that doesn’t necessarily say much. Doesn’t change the fact that you are very much upper-class, even if you try to hide it behind your disgusting pie slobber.” 

“Okay. Fine. You needn’t be so shocked, Remus.” 

“Oh, I _needn’t_?” 

Remus laughs. Sirius simply rolls his eyes.

Later they sit on the porch outside of Sirius’ room. It’s no longer raining. The day tentatively promises sunshine before it’s over. Sirius leans upon to the banister, casually, fiddling with a scarf around his neck. Words flow easily between the two of them, like a tennis match no one is particularly interested in winning, fully satisfied with picking up each other’s serve, creating interesting twists and turns before sending the ball back again. 

Remus has his sketchbook lying in his lap. On the yellowish paper, the outline of a fairytale animal of some sort slowly emerges. Wings and mane and powerful body. Sirius snatches a peek and nods.

“Won’t be too long before you’re a famous artist, Remus. I’m certain of it.” 

Remus shrugs, like he usually does when Sirius launches into his hopeful musings about the future. “No, really,” Sirius says, “I mean it. You’re going to make it big, I know you will. Well respected and sought after, and no one will find it strange that you and I are friends.” 

Sirius is daydreaming now. Sincere and well meaning and utterly out of reach. He might complain about restrictions and rules, but they both know it’ll only get worse. One day, before too long, their childhood days will be over. Sirius will be groomed into his role as the little lord. His parents will be a lot stricter with who they allow their son to play with. Remus doesn’t have to stretch his imagination much to figure out that the often bedridden son of a cook won’t be on the approved list. 

So Remus knows. He holds no illusions about the ways of the world. His and Sirius’ time together moves towards an end. 

But right now they’re here. Together. Right now he knows what it means to belong with someone. 

And somehow, he knows that it won’t end here. He’ll carry Sirius with him. He’d like to plan for a future and an ending where they remain in each other’s lives. The thing is, though, even if life _will_ tear them apart. So far apart that they can’t find their way back. Somehow, Sirius is still going to be there.

  


**ii.**

_My youth always carries a golden shimmer when you are in it, Sirius._

_Sometimes we are friends. We tell each other long buried secrets in the small hours of the morning when the rest of the world is still asleep. Sometimes we are lovers. Sometimes you are the boy-about-to-turn-man walking your dog in the park where I take my usual evening stroll, always meeting my eyes and gifting me with a smile so bright there’s no doubt in my mind I’ll choose the same park again the following night._

_Finding my place in a world of grown-ups is always hard. With you in my life, it is, unfailingly, easier. Softer. With you by my side there’s always hope for the two of us. Even in lifetimes when we know it can’t last._

  
Life out here is so different. More vivid and full of colours. Slowly, city life disappears from his mind. The here-and-now fills him in its stead. Sunny days that are slow and soft and calm, diverse and monotonous at the same time. 

“This is everything,” Sirius says. His voice is muffled by sleepy arms thrown across his face, a buffer against the burning sun.

Remus lies on his stomach along the pier’s edge. His skin still tingles after this morning’s first swim in the saltwater. Darkened hair sticks wetly to his head. He can barely conjure enough energy to open his eyes. 

“What is?” he says, lazily.

“This,” Sirius says with a wave of his hand, like that explains it all. “The sun and the sea and our friends soon coming down to join us. No one here to tell us what we can or cannot do. It’s pretty much everything I want in life, now that I’ve finally got to know you as well as I’ve hoped since the first time I saw you at school.”

“You guys _were_ intimidating,” Remus says. “No wonder it took some time before I dared to talk to you.”

“I’m glad you finally did,” Sirius says.

He tightens the hold of a string around his finger, peeking into the water where the string disappears. Sirius is in the mood for crab for lunch. Ever the optimist, he’s decided to catch them himself, making an impromptu fishing pole to catch them with. His toes nudge at Remus’ foot, and Remus rubs his foot back against Sirius, once, twice, like a wordless language they’ve perfected: _”You know what I mean, Remus?” “Yes. I know exactly what you mean.”_

With a satisfied hum, Remus inches closer. Lets his hand come to rest on Sirius’ stomach, feeling silky skin and smooth planes underneath his fingers. Sirius is a work of art, crafted from slender muscles and hard angles and jet-black hair. He’s told Remus more than once how lucky he is to be with him. That’s unquestionably meant to be Remus’ line, for sure. Having Sirius by his side is still testing the limits of his beliefs. Hearing Sirius saying it out loud never fails to make his heart leap. Tremble with inconceivable love. 

“I wish we could stay here the entire summer.” He leans in against Sirius’ shoulder. There’s a particularly appealing freckle near the collarbone. Remus wants to kiss it. And later, he’s going to. “You know, stay in your uncle’s bungalow and borrow his boat. Swim in the sea and I can draw your pretty face and we can basically ignore the parts of the world that isn’t you and me and our friends.”

Sirius draws a pattern with his finger on Remus’ shoulder. “Perfect idea,” he mumbles. Voice tinted with amusement and melancholy. “Count me in.” 

And then he turns his head, just enough to let his lips search for Remus’. They’re not difficult to find, and two mouths meet, slowly, softly. “Hi,” he says, kissing the word into Remus’ mouth. Remus lets his tongue glide across smooth lower lip and inviting warmth. Sirius tastes of oranges.

It’s the most perfect morning Remus has had in basically ever.

He pushes away the voice in his head that tells him it won’t last. 

There’s no escaping how society works. No way to erase what’s expected of them, or more accurately, what’s being demanded, and they know far too well that a relationship such as theirs has no room in their carefully planned existence. Life will do its very best to destroy what they have between them. And maybe life eventually will succeed. 

Not today, though. Today they have this. And right now, full of youth and hope and love, that is enough.

  


**iii.**

_What exactly, Sirius, is the bond made of that binds us together? Is it faith in each other? Trust? What does that even mean? Do I lay down in your arms like you do in mine, safe in the knowledge that we’re there to catch each other?_

_I don’t really know. What I do know is that in some lifetimes – many lifetimes – this is exactly how we are. Full of unshakable conviction. Relying on the other one, not even considering a world where we’d harbour any doubts about each other._

_And in other lifetimes we fail. Too many lifetimes where we somehow, at some point, let fear and suspicion in where trust should stand alone._

_But even then –_

_Our intrinsic faith in each other won’t let itself be erased. Remains of it will linger._

_Even in lifetimes where most of it is lost._

  
It doesn’t come as a huge surprise when Remus sees the eviction order hanging on his door. 

There has, in all honesty, been no lack of signs. It’s just that... Well, he’s avoided acknowledging them. Unable and unwilling to see any possible scenario in which this could be true. Because it means that someone he’d trust with his life, one of his very few confidents, must’ve told. 

No getting around it now. There’s no other reason why his landlord would kick him out. His secret is out there. Someone has betrayed him.

The lack of surprise doesn’t erase the bitter sob in his chest.

Without realising that he’s moved his body at all, he finds himself sitting on the stairs, silently looking at his hands. They’re healthy-looking hands. Quite nice, even, unnaturally pale though in the harsh hallway light. Long fingers and thick veins. Nothing there to reveal the war his body is fighting underneath calloused skin. 

He blinks, once, twice. Stubbornly willing unwelcome tears not to fall. Steady breathing, yes, good. Inhale, count to three. Exhale, count to three. No need to panic. Okay, so he no longer has a place to live. Fine, so taking care of himself and keeping his condition in check is going to be a lot harder. All right, so someone he loves and trusts must’ve let his secret out.

Oh, God. One of his friends has told. Opened their mouth and let out the words, betraying what’s been talked about in confidence. Or maybe they’ve written a letter to his landlord? Doesn’t really matter one way or the other.

Jagged cold flashes through his body, like icy barbed wire attacking the shreds of warmth he’s allowed himself to keep. A quick mental assessment of the timeline, of who knows what and who’s been where lately points to one name above the others. If he stretches his imagination and adds a dose of cynicism, he can even think of a motive.

They’ve tried for a long time to get him to join them. Sirius’ parents. Have him in the family business. And it hasn’t escaped Remus’ notice, despite Sirius acting pretty much like he always does, that he’s considering it. It’s family, after all. His little brother in particular. If his family wants proof of Sirius’ sudden devotion, outing his friend’s _dirty little secret_ would certainly be one way to go.

But no. That’s ridiculous. Not Sirius. It’s unthinkable. 

Problem is, his friends are all unthinkable. He easily could’ve sworn none of them could do such a thing. Apparently he’s been wrong. 

Slowly he rises and walks outside. The sun is shining, warm rays that mock instead of comfort. Cars drive by but he doesn’t see them. Doesn’t hear them. Doesn’t hear anything except the loud buzz in his head. Distantly noticing a few grapes someone’s dropped onto the pavement, lying there, dirty and forgotten.

Sirius has got the opportunity. Sirius has got, if he squints, the motive. As far as Remus is able to stretch his analyzing skills, he’s the only one with both.

Does he know Sirius well enough to separate lies from truth?

He thought he did. Now he’s not certain anymore. He honestly doesn’t know if he’ll be able to believe anything that comes out of Sirius’ mouth right now, and a part of him wants to cut his losses and run away.

But then again – can he let their story end here?

He stops. Thinks. Almost gets hit by a girl riding a bicycle. “Watch it!” she yells, “you can’t just stop here!” It’s true, he supposes. He inhales, deeply, makes a decision on the exhale and abruptly turns around, heading for Sirius’ flat. 

For better or worse, he’s not about to let this be the end.

  


**iv.**

_Having you in my life, Sirius, is no guarantee for an easy existence. You can, to be perfectly honest, be quite a handful. We’ve faced endless challenges together. I’m certain we’re going to face many more._

_Not having you in my life at all though... That’s where the real challenge lies._

_No matter what hardship we may have to deal with when we’re together, it’s a lot more unmanageable not having you there at all._

_Even in lifetimes where other people’s choices separated us from the start, where I’ve never known you, never seen you, I still miss you. There’s an echo of something, hovering just out of reach. A melancholy that never finds its answer. Without you, I’m always searching. And I can’t find what I’m searching for._

  
Wait.

Something is wrong.

Remus wakes with a jolt. Clammy and out of breath. Once again after a night of scattered and confusing dreams. Once again to face a morning where diffuse longing fills the fleeting moments between sleep and waking up. 

He stretches long and tired limbs and climbs out of bed. Picks up a t-shirt from the floor and puts it on. Stumbles into his small, but practical kitchen and quickly drowns his bewilderment in a cup of tea. Black currant flavour, strong, just what he needs. Picks up a newspaper while his toast gets ready. Wonders how he’ll spend the empty, unused Saturday that lies ahead. 

He should probably go out. Yes. Meet new people. The new bartender down at the pub seems nice. Full of life and laughter. What was her name again? He hasn’t talked to her much yet, but Remus thinks they might get along just fine. Maybe even become friends. Yeah, he has a good feeling about it. He might just stop by there later today.

His toast is ready. Distantly, while trying to figure out the bartender’s name, he flips through the newspaper and eats his breakfast. There’s a story about what the media have named The Trial of the Year. Some guy stands accused of multiple murders, horrible and cold-blooded crimes. The media are having a blast. It seems that everyone has an opinion, most of them leaning towards a guilty verdict. Remus has no idea why, but the conviction of the man’s innocence rolls over him like a wave, insistent and stubborn. Not to be stopped.

Then again it’s none of his business. He shakes the whole thing off and swallows the last of his toast. Folds the newspaper together. Finishes his tea. Sighs softly and takes a look at the clock hanging above the table.

It’s not as if he doesn’t have friends he can seek out. He does, good friends that he genuinely likes. And he’s got a decent job. He’s quite satisfied with his life, thank you very much. So what if it’s somehow without a sense of belonging? So what if he can never seem to shake off his restlessness?

Belonging with someone is probably hugely overrated. He’s doing fine. Perhaps not with a happy ending in sight, but what is happy anyway?

Slowly, he gets up and prepares for another day.

  


**v.**

_Sometimes, Sirius, when it all seems lost. When everything we’ve believed in and relied upon has been taken away. Sometimes we get a new chance. There are lifetimes that push us into the darkest void, and then, inconceivably, will turn everything around. Give us back some of what we’ve lost. There are times when hope seems gone, and yet a happy ending can be within our reach._

_Even if it’s not always easy to find._

  
Sirius stumbles into the kitchen, wide-eyed and pale. Gaunt face and skinny arms. Loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Wrinkly t-shirt with visible stains. Shaggy hair that hasn’t been anywhere near water for some time.

He’s the most beautiful person Remus has ever seen.

Beautiful and fiercely troubled.

Remus summons another mug with a silent _Accio_. The kitchen in number twelve Grimmauld Place is chilly, and Sirius looks like he can need some hot tea. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Sirius steps closer. For a second Remus thought he would turn back when he noticed the kitchen isn’t empty. He is so relieved Sirius doesn’t.

“You can’t sleep either, obviously,” Sirius says. “You’re the one going through my Mother’s awful china mugs and making tea at four o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ve been on a surveillance mission, as you very well know.” Remus pours hot tea. Puts a few slices of mango on a plate. Sets Sirius’ mug and the plate in front of him and tries to meet his eyes. “When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep, anyway?”

Sirius sits down, tiredly. Lets long fingers curl around the mug. Says in a thin voice, “I suppose it’s been about fourteen years.”

Oh. It’s possibly the most honest thing Sirius has said to him since they saw each other again. He’s longed for Sirius to open up to him, yearned for it, despaired over his own inability to reach through to him. Now that Sirius does open up, even just a little bit, it startles him more than he ever thought it would.

Remus is such a coward. 

“I should’ve asked you earlier,” he says. It’s way too little, way too late, but it’s heartfelt and sincere.

Sirius shrugs. “I wouldn’t have answered earlier.” He takes a sip and puts the mug down with just a little too much force. “I’m not very good company, I’m afraid. You’ve got better things to do than hanging around with me.”

It’s strange, Remus thinks, all the silly little things that he’s convinced himself to forget during their years apart. Like the way Sirius’ voice sounds like smooth velvet and soft cream, like deep and rich and heavy things to sink into. Not even Azkaban has managed to take that away from Sirius.

“You know,” Remus says, and stops. Struggles for words. He needs to get this right. “You’re here, Sirius. _With me_. It’s a gift I was so certain I could never have again.” He swallows and takes a shaky breath. Keeps going. “When you were in Azkaban, I... I wasn’t doing very well. It was nothing compared to your ordeal, of course. But sweet Merlin, how I missed you. I used to wear your jumper, Sirius. I used to buy tart, the mango kind that I’ve never really liked anyway, and I didn’t eat it, I just had it to have your scent near me. It took years before I stopped talking out loud to you, telling you stupid little things. I could’ve given anything to talk to you again. To hold you, just one more time. To get answers.”

He stretches out a hand across the table. Holds his palm open in quiet invitation. “And now you’re here. Back in my life. There will never be a time when I wouldn’t want to be with you or listen to what you have to say, Sirius. Never.”

Sirius looks up from his mug, slowly, just enough to meet Remus’ gaze. There’s a shadow of a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. It’s tiny. But it’s there. He lifts his hand and lets it fall onto Remus’. And he lets it lie there. Squeezes gently. Smiles for real.

A warm sensation of long forgotten emotions bursts through Remus. Powerful, yet hard to recognise. But he suspects it’s something very close to happiness.

It’s silly, it really is. Sirius still has so much to work through. They’re at war. In the eyes of the world Sirius is guilty.

But he’s got Sirius. Dear Merlin, just thinking the words makes him dizzy. _He’s got Sirius._ It blows his mind. And even if things should collapse around them, even if this is where their journey ends, it still wouldn’t be the worst ending he can think of. 

It would almost be a happy one.

  


**vi.**

_The thing is, Sirius. My love. The thing is that I know you. And something within me will always reach out to you. You might come in different shapes or different genders. You might be with me from cradle to grave. You might step into my life but for one glorious moment or flicker somewhere at the edges of my existence. I will look for you and I will recognise you._

_If we get to live our lives together for a hundred years or more I’ll still be begging for another century with you. And you know what, Sirius? We will get it. If not in this universe or this era, then it’ll happen in another one._

_Will we get our happy ending? Oh yes, my love, we will. Many times over._

  
In the long minutes just before dawn the air is thick with eager anticipation, unburdened and carefree. Ready for any possibility the oncoming day may present.

They sit close together on the porch, early morning chilly enough for Sirius to pull the blanket up to his chin without grumbling about how it makes him seem like an old man. (“You _are_ old,” Remus will say whenever Sirius does grumble. “I don’t _feel_ old,” Sirius will say, every time, like clockwork, and Remus sees no reason to push the point.)

A fragile-looking layer of clouds covers the eastern parts of the sky. Making patterns it’s hard to distinguish in the near-darkness. After nearly one hundred years of doing this together, sometimes weekly, sometimes with months or even years in between, they can easily tell these are clouds that the sun will conquer soon enough.

“It’s probably going to be worth it,” Sirius says without bothering to stifle his yawn. “You know, getting out of our lovely, warm bed at this hour. It always is.”

“Not long before you would’ve been up anyway, wretched morning person that you are,” Remus says. 

“Getting you fruit salad and tea for breakfast, don’t forget about that part.” Sirius is able to radiate impressive waves of exasperated fondness. Remus revels in it. Sinks into bone deep satisfaction. The blissful contentment that comes from knowing this man so well. 

He does, to be honest, feel pretty chuffed about his life. “No, Sirius,” he says, warmly. “I don’t forget about that part.”

Sirius makes a noise that loosely translates to _I know you don’t forget it, I just wanted to say it, and by the way, I do love you, you utter pillock._ Or something like that.

Dawn is heading their way, night dawdling into day. The strange thing about waiting for the sunrise? Time seems to stand still, caught in an endless, frozen moment. And then, almost without warning, the first rays of sun will curiously sneak their way up from behind the horizon. And everything changes.

Sirius said once, not long ago, that at this point in their lives it was about time for them to start watching the sunset together instead of sunrise. Jokingly, with no real edge, and they both know it won’t happen. 

“So, what do you think, Remus? Is this you and I getting our happy ending?” Sirius sighs contentedly. Leans his head against Remus’ shoulder and looks towards the sky.

“Perhaps it is,” Remus says. “It certainly feels like it. But you know what? I’m not certain how to explain it, but --- somehow I feel as though we won’t have an ending at all. Not without a new beginning.”

Sirius doesn’t seem surprised. “Maybe we won’t,” he says, calmly, like someone who’s been thinking the same thing.

They huddle closer together. Leaning into each other’s warmth, hands reaching for each other with practiced ease. 

Between one moment and the next, the sun is up. 

And so a new day begins.


End file.
